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254 MARK TWAIN SPEAKING person of lofty character and extraordinary ability, was manifest and indisputable; that none but the Deity could select that head unerringly, was also manifest and indisputable; that the Deity ought to make that selection, then, was likewise manifest and indisputable; consequently, that He does make it, as claimed, was an unavoidable deduction. I mean, until the author of this book encountered the Pompadour, and Lady Castlemaine, and some other executive heads of that kind; these were found so difficult to work into the scheme, that it was judged better to take the other tack in this book (which must be issued this fall), and then go into training and settle the question in another book. It is, ofcourse, a thing which ought to be settled, and I am not going to have anything particular to do next winter anyway."· 75 · Having heard Bram Stoker tell the christening story in the late 1880s, Mark Twain took it over and often used itfor public readings. The setting is a room in a village home, crowded with the family and friends of the infant to be christened. The officiating minister is a rather pompous little man who likes to hear himselftalk. He takes the baby in his hands and contemplates it during a short silence while he thinks ofhigh-flown phrases to put into his remarks. Then he speaks. In the text below, comments in brackets are Mark Twain's stage directions . The Christening Yarn Often Used From About 1889-90 Ah, my friends, he is but a little fellow. A very little fellow. Yes-a v-e-r-y little fellow. But! [With a severe glance around.] What of that! I ask you what of that! [From this point, gradually begin to rise-and soar-and be pathetic, and impassioned, and all that.] Is it a crime to be little? Is it a crime, that you cast upon him these cold looks of disparagement? Oh, reflect, my friends-reflect! Oh, if you but had MARK TWAIN SPEAKING 255 the eye of poesy, which is the eye of prophecy, you would fling your gaze afar down the stately march of his possible future, and then what might ye not see! What? ye disparage him because he is little? Oh, consider the mighty ocean! ye may spread upon its shoreless bosom the white-winged fleets of all the nations, and 10 they are but as a flock of insects lost in the awful vacancies of interstellar space! Yet the mightiest ocean is made of little things; drops-tiny little drops----each no bigger than the tear that rests upon the cheek of this poor child! And oh, my friends, consider the mountain ranges, the giant ribs that girdle the great globe and hold its frame together-and what are they? Compacted grains of sand-little grains of sand, each no more than a freight for a gnat! And oh, consider the constellations!-the flashing suns, countless for multitude, that swim the stupendous deeps of space, glorifying the midnight skies with their golden splendors -what are they? Compacted motes! specks! impalpable atoms of wandering stardust arrested in their vagrant flight and welded into solid worlds! Little things; yes, they are made of little things. And he-oh, look at him! Little, is he?-and ye would disparage him for it! Oh, I beseech you, cast the eye of poesy, which is the eye of prophecy, into his future! Why, he may become a poet!-the grandest the world has ever seen-Homer, Shakespeare, Dante, compacted into one!-and send down the procession of the ages songs that shall contest immortality with human speech itself! Or, he may become a great soldier!-the most illustrious in the annals of his race-Napoleon , Caesar, Alexander compacted into one!-and carry the victorious banner of his country from sea to sea, and from land to land, until it shall float at last unvexed over the final stronghold of a conquered world!-oh, heir of imperishable renown! Or, he may become a-a-he-he-[struggle desperately, here, to think of something else that he may become, but without success-the audience getting more and more distressed and worried about you all the timel-he may become-he-[suddenly1but what is his name? Papa [with impatience and exasperation]. His name, is it? Well, his name's Mary Ann! Text / "The Christening Yarn," MS, MTP. ...

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